You Can't Save Everybody
by Shazam00
Summary: AU: High School student Emma Swan is in a dark place. She ends up in counselor David Nolan's office, and he tries to be the girl's knight in shining armor, but can she be saved? Can he? TRIGGER WARNING
1. Chapter 1

Emma stomped into Mr. Nolan's office, and slammed the door shut behind her. The man sitting behind the desk looked up at her with steely blue eyes, an unamused expression plastered on his face.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing the undoubtedly uncomfortable plastic chair before him. The girl yanked the chair out much farther than necessary, and sat down, putting as much distance between herself and the counselor as possible. With her arms crossed, her chin tucked down into her chest, and her eyes the tattered converse hanging off of her feet, the girl was obviously very closed off, and on top of that, very angry at being summoned to the counselor. David sighed. _Another tough one._

"Do you know why you're here?" he questioned. She didn't move, still refusing to meet his eyes. He heaved another deep sigh, and shuffled some papers around on his desk, anything to keep his eyes away from the bruises adorning her face, and extremities, and the small cigarette burns in neat little rows on the top of her shoulder that disappeared under her shirt. The things he tried his most to ignore were the horizontal marks across her wrists, jagged, angry red marks marring her wrists. She seemed to notice where his eyes fell anyway, sharply pulling down the sleeve of her shirt.

"I'm gonna take that as a no then," he stated rather awkwardly, adjusting his already perfectly straight tie. She didn't move, her eyes still trained on the ratty shoes.

"Emma one of your teachers is worried that you are depressed," he blurted out. She moved her head up slowly, and he was shocked at the intensity of the glare leveled in his direction. The fierce green eyes held so much sadness, and anger, and something else. The something else resembled the remains of what had once been a burning fire. It flickered in the emerald pools only for a moment, before it was gone again.

"Who?" she asked quietly, almost emotionlessly.

"It doesn't matter," David shot back quickly. "The point is, other teachers agree with this one's observation. You cut yourself off Emma. In PE, you get there early, do the exercises by yourself, and stay after to clean up, almost like you're avoiding people. In your core classes, you're either staring at your desk, or reading, like you're afraid of having people notice you. I've seen your scars Emma. I can help you. You're not alone."

"You don't understand," she muttered. He looked at her, sadness filling his eyes, threatening to spill down onto his cheeks.

"I think I do," he responded. "Emma whatever this is, you can get through it. Your grades are fantastic, you read above a college level, you're smart, obviously dedicated and hardworking. There's prog—"

"I DON'T NEED A PROGRAM!" she suddenly yelled, standing abruptly from her chair, knocking it back onto the floor.

"Then what do you need?" Mr. Nolan asked, his composure faltering more than before with her outburst.

"You just don't understand, you people never do," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Then make me understand Emma," Mr. Nolan pleaded. He rose from behind his desk, swiftly moving around to the front, and perching on the edge. "I just want to help you. Please, make me understand." Emma sank down against the wall, and rested her head on her knees. The two sat like that for a while. They made an odd pair. The man with the mussed dark blonde hair, the hard blue eyes, and the perfectly straight tie, perched on the edge of the metal desk, a single tear running down his cheek. The girl with ruffled blonde curls, eyes that used to hold so much light, dulled by the scars covering her body, curled into a ball, with her face buried.

"I had a family once Mr. Nolan. They gave me back," the girl's voice filled the quiet room.

"Emma you aren't the only foster child attending this school," David started, before Emma cut him off again.

"You don't get it. You never will either. You haven't been bounced around from place to place, never wanted, never loved. I have. I've been through hell, put up with things no one should ever have to put up with. I've been used as a fucking punching bag, I've been kicked, tied up, burned, I've been tortured. And I should feel something," Emma said, looking up at the man, her eyes watering only slightly. "I should hate the people that did this to me. I should hate this God forsaken system. But I don't feel anything for them Mr. Nolan. Not a damn thing. This thing called emotion, it's almost foreign to me now. I don't hate anybody, I don't like anybody. I'm not even angry anymore, and I used to be angry all the time. I'm just—I'm just sad."

The man looked at the girl. Both of their tears were falling freely now. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it, because no words could bridge the gap he felt opening up between them.

"I know you want to help Mr. Nolan, you want to be the knight in shining armor that swoops in and saves the day. But this isn't a fairy tale. You can't save everybody Mr. Nolan. Some people are just too far gone." And with that, Emma Swan disappeared out the door.


	2. Even Heroes Can Be Broken

**AUTHORS NOTE: Due to the feedback, I will be updating this story sporadically. Thank you for the reviews!**

Before he had even moved a muscle, she was gone. And he couldn't do anything about it. David took a deep, shaky breath, and lowered himself down to the floor. He moved gingerly, laying his head back against his desk, and curling his knees up to his chest. The tears came, and he let them. He cried, because that girl, that beautiful girl, was so broken, that she didn't think she could be saved. She had been so torn up by the world around her, that she couldn't see that she was worth the effort. He cried because he didn't know if he could save her, and that scared him. It scared him because he could imagine what would happen to her, all the grizzly possibilities. It scared him, because he saw a lot of himself in her, and even more, because she reminded him of the last time he hadn't been able to save someone, God, it hurt him, bad, it left him with a part of his soul torn out, a part that had gone with the boy when he had sped away on his motorcycle, and had died with him when the ambulances brought him back in pieces. He sat there, curled in a little ball, shielding himself from the memories, but it was a fight he couldn't win, because they were a part of him, and try as you might, you can't hide yourself from yourself. He stayed there, trembling, as the light in the room faded.

"David," a small, kind voice, whispered. He ignored it, pulled his knees tighter against his chest. Tiny, but strong hands grabbed at his shoulders, forcing his hands to release their clasp on his legs.

"David you have to get up. We have to go home," the hands grasped his wrists and pulled. David groaned, and refused to budge. "David Nolan, get your butt up, we are going home." David struggled to his feet, and forced his bleary eyes open. As his blurry vision cleared, he came face to face with a short woman, her ebony hair styled in a pixie cut, her green eyes looking him up and down, concern filling her gaze.

"Mary Margaret," he whispered. She looked up at her husband's face, and promptly pulled him into a crushing hug. He laid his head down on her shoulder, and the tears came again, and he sobbed into her shoulder until he didn't think he could anymore, and then he kept going. His wife, his beautiful, kind, understanding wife, just stood there with him, supporting him, caressing his back, whispering words of comfort in his ear. When his breathing became steadier, and his shoulders shook less, she detached herself, only to grab his coat, and his bag. She took his hand, and led him out of his office, and out the door of the high school. She guided him down the steps, and towards the beat up yellow bug that they drove to school in every day, and he went willingly, a little ashamed of his behavior, but too petered out to care much. They drove home in silence, but her hand never left his.

Later that night, he sat in his easy chair, remote in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. He was watching, no more like staring in the general direction of, the home shopping network. He was only brought back out of his head, by the subtle weight shift that alerted him to Mary Margaret's presence.

"David you have to talk about it," she said. He looked up at her with blood shot eyes, and just an overall tired look on his face.

"No, not necessarily," he drawled, the amount of alcohol he had consumed evident in the way his words slurred. Mary Margaret sighed, and reached for the glass in his hand.

"Well, the only thing you'll be doing tonight is sleeping, and tomorrow you'll be taking a cold shower and you'll definitely want coffee," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And then, maybe you'll be ready to talk about it." She lifted the whiskey out of his hand, and took a swig of it herself, before setting the empty glass down on the table.

"Let's get you upstairs," she whispered affectionately. Together, they made their way up the stairs, and turned left down the hallway, towards the master bedroom. It was small, the type of thing that could be afforded on the salaries of a high school teacher and a counselor, but it fit their needs, and it was all theirs. The walls were brick, and the curtains that adorned the one window were a muted golden color, to compliment the bedspread of the same shade, with little pink, flowery details.

"Alright David let's get you onto the bed," Mary Margaret grunted, heaving the mostly dead weight of her very intoxicated husband towards the bed. It was quite an endeavor, with him being twice her size and all, but she managed. When she had his head propped up with a pillow, she went off in search of a trash can to put by him, because boy oh boy, was he going to need it.

"Mary Margaret?" David called. She turned towards him, taking note of the fear in his voice.

"I'm right here sweetie," she answered, triumphantly returning to his side, garbage bin in hand.

"Good," David whispered quietly. "I was afraid you'd left."

"Honey why would I leave?" she asked, not really expecting an answer, as she turned him on his side, aiming his mouth towards the trash can.

"Everyone leaves at some point," he mumbled, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. Almost.

"David, I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "You can't get rid of me that easily." The drunken man chuckled.

"I don't wanna get rid of you," he said. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Mary Margaret's eyes stung at the sincerity in his voice. She moved around to the other side of the bed, and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"You're stuck with me," she reminded him. She felt his lungs fill with air, more than she heard the deep, shaky breath that he took.

"I killed that boy Mary Margaret. He came to me for help, and I let him go and I shouldn't have, and now—now he's dead. And the brother, he's all alone and it's all my fault!" the tears came again, more violently this time. David's whole body shook, and snot ran from his nose.

"He's dead, Mary, and what if the same thing happens to her. What if I can't save her?" the sobs wracked his body, as he wailed. Mary Margaret pulled him tighter into her grasp, and she sobbed too, because he hadn't always been like this. There hadn't always been nightmares, and drinking, and screaming in the middle of the night.

"David Nolan, whoever this girl is, she's lucky to have you fighting on her side," she said after a long time, after the tears had ceased to fall from his eyes, and he had just moaned, and she had gathered herself and thanked God for the marvelous man in bed with her, and prayed that one day, he could be right again, that everything could be okay.

"But what if I lose," he whispered, his voice breaking. She inhaled, and then exhaled, and then repeated the process, trying not to fall apart again.

"Go to sleep David. With any luck, you won't remember this in the morning," she finally ordered him.

"I love you Mary Margaret."

"I love you too."


	3. And It All Came Crashing Down

** AUTHORS NOTE: Wow! That's awkward. Well if you like that story that I accidentally put into this story, it's called A New Chapter! Sorry for the confusion guys!**

He remembered everything. Every last bit of their conversation last night. Every painful memory, every embarrassing moment, he remembered.

They sat at the kitchen table in a pregnant silence. He drank his coffee, she drank tea.

"I think you should call in sick today," she finally said.

"I can't," he replied.

"Yes you can. You have to take care of yourself. The kids will be there tomorrow. You need a—"

"Mary Margaret, I need to go in," he cut her off.

"Davi—"

"I NEED TO GO IN MARY MARGARET!" He shouted, slamming his mug down on the table. It shattered into pieces.

"FUCK!" He screamed, standing abruptly, and knocking his chair back in the process. He went to clean up the scalding coffee, but his wife was already there. Her head was turned away from him.

"Mary Margaret I got it," he whispered. She sniffled.

"No, it's fine," she replied shakily.

"Honey—" he started. She turned to face him, her eyes red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Don't you dare honey me," she growled in a low voice, her teeth gritted together. "You're sick David. How the hell are you going to help those kids if you can't even help yourself huh? How do you think you not sleeping or eating and drinking yourself to sleep every night will help Emma?" David gaped at her. Her words sunk in, and he sat, despite the fact that there was no chair. She took a deep breath, because it was obvious that her words had the desired effect.

"I'm leaving, and you are taking the God damned day off. I'll tell the principal. And then she was gone.

Mary Margaret was right. He knew she was right. She was always right. But he had no idea what to do with himself. So he sat there on the kitchen floor, with his head in his hands. It was a position his body had become accustomed to in the last few days. So he sat there, and he thought about what he would do. This one girl, this one teenage girl with blonde hair and the sad green eyes and cigarette burns on her shoulders, and scars on her wrists, angry looking scars, and bruises on her legs and hands, she walked into his office and sent the precarious life that David Nolan had built in this town, tumbling down around her—him—them. She made quite an entrance into his life, and he'd be damned if he was just gonna sit around and let her leave it in a way similar to the boys that came before her. So David got up off the floor, and he cleaned up the kitchen, and he showered.

David left the house around mid-morning, on a mission to put his life together again. For his sake, for Mary Margaret's sake, and for Emma's.

Emma Swan didn't cry. It just wasn't a luxury she could afford. She'd been in the system for as long as she could remember, and she knew she couldn't only appear to be tough as nails, she had to be tough as nails. Walking out of that man's office though—Mr. Nolan was his name—she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. No one had looked at her like that, like they _cared_ in a long time. And it almost made tough as nails Emma Swan cry. Almost, but not quite, because Emma Swan couldn't afford to cry.

Walking out of that office was scary, because she wanted his help. She wanted to make that man in there, for some God forsaken reason, understand her. She wanted to tell him what made her so different than the other troubled kids he'd dealt with, she wanted to tell him her deepest darkest secrets. But that wasn't something Emma Swan did. It was a luxury she couldn't afford. So she didn't turn around and walk back into that office like every nerve in her body was screaming at her to do. She kept right on walking, down the hall, and she slipped the security guard a fiver on her way out the door.

She didn't go back to the foster parents until she was sure school had let out. She timed it perfectly, coming in while the woman was in the kitchen, and the man was lounging on the couch, knocking back his third or fourth beer. She went straight up stairs, tidied her already immaculate looking room, sat down at the desk, and did her homework. She went to bed early, only to be dragged out of it by her hair, hours later, because the garbage hadn't been taken out (she'd taken it to the curb on her way to school that morning) and the floor hadn't been mopped (she'd mopped it until she could see her reflection the night before), and the dogs hadn't been fed (they were vicious things, trained to attack the slightest movement. She tossed two hunks of meat into their crates every morning and evening, before she did anything else). The beatings hurt, but not as much as the burns (You already have a nice collection going girl, let's see if we can add to it!), and neither of the two hurt as much as the words did (dumb blonde bitch, worthless, no wonder her parents didn't want her). When it was over, she pulled herself to her feet, and went back upstairs. This time though, she packed her meager collection of belongings in her back pack. When she left the house for school the next day, she left for good.

It was lunch time when she got a chance to go see Mr. Nolan. She walked to his office cautiously. She was nervous. It was an odd sensation. Tough as nails Emma Swan, nervous as hell to go talk to a counselor. It was almost comical when she thought about it. When she reached the door way to his office, she stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting behind the desk wasn't uptight, steely blue eyes, and perfectly straight tie Mr. Nolan. No, it was a rather petite lady with dark pixie cut hair, and green eyes that almost matched her own. The woman looked at the girl in surprise, and opened her mouth to say something, but Emma cut her off.

"Tell him I'm leaving. And tell him not to look for me. Cus' he won't find me. And you know what—tell him—tell him thanks for me," she said hurriedly. _Of fucking course he's not there when I need him._

"Emma wait!" the dark haired woman shouted. _Of course he left. Everyone always leaves._

"Emma!" the woman called again! But she was already walking down the hallway. She kept going, ignoring the woman's yells. She handed the security guard a fiver on her way out the door.


End file.
